r/CharlotteDobreFans

I (24M) have been with my girlfriend (22F) for 8 months now.
I met my girlfriend at one of my friend’s houses. We were playing truth or dare, and she kept on choosing me. The next day, we decided to start dating. Mind you, she had a boyfriend. She told me that she didn’t love her boyfriend anymore; he just didn’t want to be dumped. I understood.

Me and her started dating, and things were going well. She is a talker. She likes talking about her family and friends, but mostly about her sister (27F), because she doesn’t live far from us. She told me that if her sister found out about us, she would kill her.
Fast-forward to one month ago. She started giving me this excuse that I don’t give her enough attention and that I’m only affectionate when I want something.

Then she told me that her mother has a house close by and that her brother is in town, living at the house for the time being while he is fixing his own house. She also told me that he bought a new car.

Me, being a loving and trusting person, believed her. Mind you, this was the first time I was hearing about the house, and she tells me almost everything about her family.

Then she started having these late-night visits to her “mother’s house” to visit her brother. Every time we had a disagreement, she would leave and go to her mother’s house.

Then I searched her phone and found out that her “brother” was actually her boyfriend. I asked her about it, but she denied it. She even deleted the messages. I showed her the screenshots I had taken and asked her why she deleted the messages. She said something along the lines of, “I didn’t want them to hurt you,” because apparently that’s how she and her “brother” talk.

Then she turned the blame onto me.
I just said okay, and I believed her.The next week, I went to a club and met her sister. I recognized her from the pictures my girlfriend had shown me. We talked, and things eventually escalated, and we ended up sleeping together.

Now I have pictures of me and her sister together, and I’m still seeing her from time to time. My girlfriend doesn’t know about it.
So, AITA?

I have now been happily married for decades, but, my wedding was anything but traumatic.

For MANY reasons - and here is just one of them...

I like understated things, and our wedding was a civil one, done at the City Hall with a Justice of Peace, so, I had selected an understated dress. My style, anyways - I love that dress.

Still a wedding dress, but understated and elegant. It had a V-neck opening, and even thought the dress itself was modest, I splurged (my own money, dress and all) on some antique lace to cover the depth of the V-neck and carried the rest of the lace onto my custom hair-piece (hat with a symbolic veil attached, the lace went around the brim) to create the look I truly loved.

My mother did not like my dress. She said it was too plain and looked like a cheap tablecloth...

...so, she did what she told me all good mothers do, and bought me another wedding dress.

It was her style - not mine. All frills and ruffles and cheap material trying hard and failing.

Plus, it was her size: 'I had to try it on to see how it looked!'

Perhaps this is the time to mention I am about 3" taller than my mother and have quite wide shoulders, while she is delicately petite...so, even were I to give in on the style, the dress simply did not fit me.

I rejected her dress - pointing out I had one, professionally altered with the antique lace I loved - but, nothing I said would quell her anger.

Finally, she said that 'she had bought that dress to be worn at my wedding' and if I was not going to wear it, she would.

And, she did.

​

This is a long one, so buckle up potatoes , and I know I'm probably going to get judged for parts of it. That's okay. I'm not pretending I made perfect choices.

In 2024, I (39F at the time) started a new job working in accounts. There were about six of us in the department. I'm naturally quite bubbly and talkative, and I quickly became friendly with a woman I'll call Nina (34F). She was much quieter than me and hadn't been there very long herself.

I started in January, and then in April my entire world changed when I was diagnosed with cervical cancer.

I needed a hysterectomy.

Because I was still fairly new, I actually offered to resign. My workplace was amazing about it and told me absolutely not , have the operation, recover and come back when I was ready.

I had my hysterectomy on 6 May. Thankfully, the surgery was successful. Within about three weeks I was working from home, and after roughly a month I was back in the office.

Around that time, I found out Nina was pregnant and would be going on maternity leave in August. I was going to cover some of her work while she was away, including work involving her husband, who I'll call Spencer (35M), who worked in sales at the same company.

Nina went on maternity leave and had their second son.

Life carried on. I worked, attended hospital appointments and tried to get back to some kind of normality.

Then, in November, things at home became unbearable.

My then-husband (42M) assaulted me. He had also taken my bank cards and keys, leaving me with only my phone. I didn't have my cards set up on my phone at the time, so I couldn't even pay for transport.

I decided to walk to work.

It was about a two-hour walk.

While I was walking, Spencer happened to see me. He pulled over and told me to get in.

He noticed the bruising.

Eventually I told him what had happened. I think it also suddenly made sense to him why I covered myself up so much.

I'd already messaged my boss to say I would be late. When I arrived, I went into his office and HR were there. They checked I was okay and helped me clean some of my wounds.

And then, because apparently my coping mechanism is pretending everything is fine, I went back to my desk and worked.

Spencer drove me back to my street afterwards. He was furious about what my husband had done and wanted to confront him, but I begged him not to. I had three children at home who didn't know what had been happening to me.

Over the following weeks, Spencer kept checking on me.

His best friend, who I'll call Ryan, did too.

I started sitting with them more at work. They made me laugh. For a little while every day, I felt normal.

Spencer also started opening up about his own marriage.

He told me things at home were awful. Nina was suffering badly after having the baby wirh postnatal depression and according to him he felt more like a servant or a tenant than a husband. He said he'd get up around two hours early to sort both children, feed them, get their five-year-old ready for school, sort the house and then go to work.

He was depressed.

I was dealing with abuse and the breakdown of my marriage.

We became each other's emotional support.

And then one night, when he was driving me home, we kissed.

We both knew immediately that we'd crossed a massive line.

But instead of stopping, we started an affair.

By this point, I had left my husband, involved the police and moved in with my mum. My divorce was going through and thankfully I had a very good solicitor.

I made Spencer promise me one thing: do not leave your wife and children for me.

We told ourselves what we were doing was just sex.

Looking back, obviously it wasn't that simple.

At the work Christmas party, Nina was there too but she was on her phone all night playing games and watching tiktok or Facebook. Spencer and I talked and danced quite a lot, although obviously nobody knew what was happening between us.

The next day Spencer rang me. He'd ordered food because Nina was hungover, but hers hadn't arrived. Somehow that ended with him meeting me in a park.

We kissed again.

After that, the affair properly took off.

Spencer was also absolutely terrible at lying, and Nina knew something wasn't right.

On New Year's Eve, they had a huge argument and Nina went to stay with her sister a couple of towns away for a few days.

I spent two nights with Spencer in their house.

We slept together in their bed.

I'm not proud of that. I can't dress it up and make it sound better than it was.

By March, Spencer and Nina had separated, although initially he was still living in the family home while trying to find somewhere else he was sleeping in his sons bed and the son was sleeping in mums bed with her

Eventually he found a room in a shared house.

Ryan and I both gave him money to help with his deposit and get himself sorted.

Then Spencer started gambling again.

He blew through his wages, and I started helping him financially. I paid things like his car finance, some of his rent and bought food for him when he had his children.

Ryan helped him too.

Spencer and I continued seeing each other, but hardly anyone knew. Ryan was basically the only person who knew the truth.

Things between Spencer and Nina were incredibly difficult. At least from what I saw and what Spencer told me, the children became part of their arguments. If she told him he had to have them on a particular day, he had ro have them as Nina would threaten to stop him from seeing them , as shed done it twice worh him and he loved his sons his dad left his mum and he aaid hed never leave his kids ,

It felt like whenever she said jump, he asked how high.

Eventually it started putting a huge strain on our relationship too.

In September 2025, Spencer and I called it a day.

Around this time, my financial circumstances changed dramatically and I left my job ro focus on my health.

Spencer tried to get back together with me.

I also helped him with more debts.

Ryan warned me not to.

He basically said, "Don't give him any more money and don't get back with him. He needs money and he knows you'll help him."

I didn't want to believe that.

Unfortunately, I think Ryan was right.

Then, in October, I was diagnosed with colon cancer.

And I'll admit something that probably sounds ridiculous: part of me wondered whether it was karma.

I'd had an affair with a married man. His marriage had fallen apart while we were involved. I carried enormous guilt about that.

Nina then posted things on social media implying that I deserved what was happening to me.

I went through chemotherapy and radiotherapy. I lost my hair and went through one of the hardest periods of my life.

Spencer wasn't there for me.

Ryan was.

Over time, Ryan and I ended up in a relationship.

He was caring, kind and there for me through chemo and afterwards. I told him from the beginning that if my illness became too much, he was allowed to walk away. I wouldn't have hated him for it.

About four months later, though, our relationship ended after he became involved with another woman from work. Talk about karma

Strangely, I don't hate either of them.

I genuinely wish them well.

Spencer eventually ghosted me too, and I've since heard rumours that he and Nina may be back together. I have absolutely no idea whether that's true, and at this point it's really none of my business.

During chemotherapy, I started writing on Wattpad.

Writing became my escape from everything that was happening. With encouragement and help from a few friends, I created a fictional story inspired partly by emotions and experiences I'd been through.

It became surprisingly popular.

People encouraged me to publish it, so eventually I did.

Then Nina found it.

Things became horrible.

She and some of her friends went after me online, including on TikTok. I received messages and comments telling me to die.

Eventually, I unpublished the book.

Now I'm trying to close this entire chapter of my life, and there's one thing left hanging over me:

the money Spencer owes me.

Over the time we were involved, I lent him money for debts, bills and other expenses when he was struggling.

Most importantly, I still have messages from him acknowledging the money and saying he would pay me back.

I don't want Spencer back.

I don't want to interfere in his relationship with Nina, whether they're together or not.

I don't even want another argument.

I simply want the money that was loaned to him and that he agreed to repay.

So my question is: what would you do now?

Would you send one final formal message giving him a deadline to repay it?

Would you stop communicating personally and go straight down the legal/small-claims route?

I know I'll probably get called an AH for the affair, and I accept my part in that.

But does doing something wrong in one part of this story mean I should just write off money that somebody repeatedly promised to repay?

OK - this dates back a long time, but, I am still wondering if I was the Abutt...

I was in University (paying my own way - though dad helped with the textbook cost - going decades back) when my cousin moved in with us.

100% my idea - she was living in a severely abusive household and, since I was about 5 years old, I remember placing myself between her and her mother (hitting her with my 5-year-old fists) to stop her physically abusing my cousin. Yes, she was older than I, but, I was always her protector. So, when I strongly urged my parents to take her in when she became of age and help her get proper education, my parents agreed.

Aside: when she moved in, I told her to pick 50% of my clothes - her choice - and they were hers. Yes, I lived at my parent's home rent-free, but, I paid my own way for almost everything else, including food, clothes etc.

What I was not ready for was how my mother and my cousin would form a 'mean girls' clique against me...

I had saved for 5 months to buy 'the latest' and most fashionable suit. It was lilac-coloured with contrasting threads running through it, wide pants (as was the high fashion then), lined and tailored, and a jacket that was, well, height of fashion then and very flattering on me.

The suit was special - I wanted to wear it (at least, for the first time), to a special event (and one was coming up - I was very excited).

My mother had 'borrowed' the suit to wear herself - then, tossed the 'dry-clean-only' pants into the washer and dryer - before my 'event'.

They came out predictably shrunken. After the washer/dryer, the pants came up to the middle of my calves. I was devastated!

My mother - much shorter than I am - could still wear them...and she explained to me that she did me a favour by shrinking the pants because they were too big to start off with...and I was too cowed by her and my cousin's united front to say anything. So, I wrote the pants off...

There was still the jacket!

I loved it and wore it - but, without asking permission, so did my mother and cousin. This was not something my parents bought for me - it was several hundred dollar jacket (back decade ago) that they would simply take and wear it as if it were communal property (despite my protests, which were always punished).

When I got married and was moving out, I tried to take my jacket with me. I mean, I had paid for it, so it was mine, and I could take it with me, right?

No.

Not as such.

My mother and cousin started verbally abusing me when I tried to take it, menacingly advancing towards me, and eventually coming up with this: 'There are three of us who wear this jacket and you are one, we are two so we outvote you. You cannot take it with you.'

I must admit, I was quite frightened of them. Yes, I left the blazer behind.

Am I the Ahole for wanting to take my blazer with me when I moved out?

Am I the Ahole for giving in to the abuse and leaving the blazer to to them?